


Return from Coppelius Station

by cristobalrios



Category: Star Trek: Picard
Genre: A LOT of Angst, Angst, Depression, Episode: s01e10 Et in Arcadia Ego Part 2, F/F, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Major Character Temporary Death, Mourning, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, almost apocalypse, attempted suicide (referenced), near-galaxy-destroying experience
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:54:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28692012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cristobalrios/pseuds/cristobalrios
Summary: After a Near-Apocalypse-Experience, there are more loose ends to tie up than Cris had expected. He's starting to remember why he doesn't normally have a crew. It can get a bit crowded.First two chapters will take place at the end of Et In Arcadia Ego Part 2, the rest will be post-S1. Syrios verse (see most of my other fics for more details).
Relationships: Cristóbal Rios & Seven of Nine, Cristóbal Rios/S'vec Sylar, Jean-Luc Picard & Cristóbal Rios, Raffi Musiker/Seven of Nine
Comments: 5
Kudos: 4





	Return from Coppelius Station

**Author's Note:**

> Some things to know: This is based on my roleplays with several friends on Tumblr (my url is cristobalrios). Hugh is alive. Zhaban came on the trip with Picard. Icheb is also alive and he joins them at some point, but I'm not sure if I will cover that? We'll see.

Picard had stolen his ship. That old man took his ship, with his husba—his bondm— _damn it,_ the love of his _life_ on that goddamn ship. That self-sacrificial bastard put them directly in the line of fire of those fucking Romulans and if all organic life in their galaxy was going to end at the hands of those synth and the tentacles of whatever the hell kind of artificial life was coming out of that portal, nightmarish and kraken-like, the ultimate galaxy-destroying eldritch abomination AI coming to end them all, he should be up _there,_ with his love—even if he’s still unconscious after trying to kill himself _twice_ —he should be holding him in his arms as it all ends. Instead he’s down here, watching Soji summon that hell-beast as the Admiral flies in orbit trying to delay the Romulans. Sutra was surprisingly easy to take out. Soong took care of that. She lies on the floor a few feet away, all gold-skin and dead yellow eyes and he can almost see the hole from the phaser in her head, her sister’s head, see Jana, Sutra, Soji, whoever the hell, that _face_ —floating in space where he put her and he wants to think that Vandermeer’s actions were right all along, almost, _almost,_ for a moment believes the Zhat Vash had understood what none of them were able to see. Not that they tried to combat it the right way, but they almost had a point.

He had trusted her. He brought her here, _for Jana,_ as she had asked. She had played on his emotions, his guilt, his trauma. He brought her to her family and now she’s seconds away from destroying them all because he was too weak to stop it. Wasn’t fast enough. He _knew_ he shouldn’t have let Sutra mind-meld with Agnes, not after what _Oh_ had done to her, after they’d been screwed over too many times, but he backed off when told to like a good fucking Starfleet officer. And they all failed. And he can’t even be with the one he loves in their last few moments. He would sob but he doesn’t have the strength. Vaguely he registered that the Romulans had gone, Picard was able to pull off some last-minute heroic bullshit to stall them until Starfleet actually came through for once and chased the Romulans away, but it was an empty gesture because they were still going to die from the synths. Not that Starfleet cared. But Picard was trying to negotiate with her, that unfailing optimism of Grand Heroic Captains with their damn martyrdom and true to form, the old man collapsed, his old body and already dying mind unable to take all the stress, but she _stopped—_

She stopped, and Picard was beamed down from the ship. The portal closed before anything could get through and he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t feel anything as they gathered around the dying admiral. Nothing they could do. His brain abnormality is terminal and it’s already killed him. He said his goodbyes and somehow, somehow it seemed that the bastard had pulled it off, for now. The Romulans were gone, the portal was closed. Soji was reunited with her family. The mission was over, a success, but he watched yet another captain die to save his crew, save the galaxy. He wanted to hate Soji. If she had just stopped when they took down Sutra none of this would have happened. But he didn’t have the energy, nor the will in him to hate her. Not when she bore Jana’s face. Not when she did the right thing. All she knew was that everything she had known was a lie and then there were people coming to destroy her home world and her and everyone like her, but she had put that aside with Picard’s help. She was lost. They had to help her.

Sylar. The ship. She was still in orbit. He jumped into action, because he couldn't stand here and cry over another dead captain, couldn’t stop as his brain was still in crisis mode, and had them beam him back up to the ship. As soon as he was onboard he ran to where Sylar was recuperating. None of the holos were active, as they had gotten some of the systems to work but haven’t had time to repair them yet. He wrapped his arms around his unconscious form, still weak, still recovering. He briefly hid his face in Sylar’s neck then pulled back to kiss his forehead, taking his hand and squeezing it (an action that would be very stimulating to Sylar if he was conscious enough for it), before pressing their fingers together. _Sylar. I’m here. Hear me._ He put Sylar’s hand to his head, positioning his fingers in the meld position as best as he could in an attempt to enhance the temporary connection formed from his touch-telepathy, if that even still worked right now. _We did it. We’re safe. Everyone is safe._ Everyone except Picard.

Now. Now was the time to break down. When he was alone with his love, holding Sylar in his arms. He laid like that and sobbed against his love for a while, although he lost all concept of time. After a while, he stumbled to the bridge, relieved to have some time for himself, away from prying eyes. He wasn’t the kind of guy who willingly broke down in front of others – not unless he trusts them immensely. This crew… He cared about them. Fought it the whole way, but it’s _there,_ but not… Not quite enough to let them see that. Only Sylar. Maybe Raffi if he had no choice. He sat down in the captain’s chair and carefully landed her down, gently this time, near Synthville – or Coppelius Station, as Soji had called it.

With Sylar still not conscious, he left the ship, but stayed away from the crowd. He wasn’t ready for that. Elnor would be crying, and Agnes, probably. Although she seemed to have disappeared, with Soji, and… Soong, when they took Picard’s body away. He sat on a low railing looking out across the Coppelian landscape as the planet’s sun was setting, painting beautiful colors across the slopes in front of him. He felt numb, and sat there, staring, for – again, what the hell _is_ time? – when he heard footsteps behind him. Quiet and solitary. Not quiet enough to be the kid – sounded _similar_ to Raffi, but a distinctly different rhythm to those who know her well enough to pay attention. He found himself wiping at his eyes and inhaling softly out of instinct although he hadn’t been consciously aware that he was crying as the footsteps approached, and he glanced back as he saw _Seven_ come up, carrying a bottle of… something or other. So that’s who it was.

She sat next to him, taking a swig of the thick green liquid that briefly looked like the blood of a Vulcan – or a Romulan – but if you looked at it you could see it had a different consistency, lighter in texture with a sort of shimmery, swirling silver tint mixed in. She made a disgusted face as he watched her, eyes flickering around to read her expression. “You heard?” He asked.

“Just now,” she replied with a small nod, placing the bottle between them. Her eyes shone with unshed tears neither of them acknowledged as she glanced at the bottle between them. “It’s what passes for alcohol here.” He figured that was the case, and he could _use_ a drink. “I really don’t recommend it,” she added as he moved to pick it up, ignoring her warning. She watched him as he took a sip, raising his eyebrows and wincing when it hit his tongue. She was right. He swallowed anyway and she smiled humorlessly and nodded in agreement with his distaste.

There was a moment of silence as they both stared at the sunset. “… I said I would never do it again and then I fucking did it again,” he commented as he glanced toward her, voice still low.

She nodded, blinking. “Same,” she said as she leaned forward.

His eyes examined her briefly, turning slightly to look at her better. “Never again do what?”

She scoffed and took another sip of the drink, wincing again. “So many things.” She placed the bottle down again. “But in this instance,” she started, glancing down, “never again… Kill somebody just because it’s what they deserve… Just because it feels wrong for them to still be alive.” She looked at him again. “You?”

He watched her closely as she handed him the bottle. He sniffled slightly. Damn tears. He thought he’d gotten it all out on the ship. He shook his head slowly, looking out in front of them at nothing in particular. “… Never again let another self-righteous, hard-assed old Starship captain into my heart,” he said, looking at her. She smiled, just a little. And so did he, for a moment, because he had. He had opened himself up again. But the smile faded. _This_ was the damn hard part to get out. “… Never again have to stand there and watch him die.” For a moment he saw Vandermeer, Jana… Picard… And Soji, in his mind. At least this time the girl lived. History didn’t repeat itself completely.

“Was there anything you could have done to prevent it?” Seven asked him.

He thought about it for a moment. “… No, I guess there wasn’t.” It was hard for him to accept, because he felt like there should have been. But Picard made his own choices… You could even argue that Vandermeer had, too. It still wasn’t enough.

“Hm,” she shrugged. “Then I win.” He put the bottle down between them. “Where’s your doctor? Aren’t you two like… A thing?” She asked.

Cris exhaled slowly with a small smile. “Yeah, you could say that.” He confirmed. “He’s… Still on the ship. Recovering from… an incident.” He explained. “It’s… a long story.”

“Is it one you would want to share?” She asked, curiosity clear. He just took another sip of that terrible green liquid and stayed silent. She nodded her head. “Understood.” She took the bottle from him for a sip herself.

“Where’s the kid?” He asked. “Seemed pretty attached to you. It’s that whole badass warrior woman thing that reminds him of home.”

“Is that what I am?” She asked, smiling subtly. Cris shrugged. “He went to find Raffi.” She told him.

Cris nodded. “Raffi’s good at the comforting thing.”

“Speaking from experience?” She asked with a raised eyebrow and ocular implant.

Another shrug. “She’s my best friend… You could say my _only_ friend, if you don’t include…”

“Your lover and your holographic clones?” She asked with a laugh.

“If that’s what you want to call it,” he agreed, smiling. There was that unspoken question (that is sometimes spoken by those with less tact) of _why did he make them that way,_ but she didn’t pry. He liked that about her.

“I think you have more friends than you’re admitting to yourself,” Seven told him. “Why are you denying the others when you’ve already admitted to letting Picard in? It’s safe to admit it because he’s dead?” No response. Just a fixed stare at the horizon. “Sorry,” she amended. “Prying. Got it.” Another swig.

“I’m going to ask him to marry me,” he said before he even really thought about it.

“Picard? You’re a bit late for that,” she joked.

He responded with a raised brow. “Sylar.”

“Right. The one you won’t seem to admit you’ve been screwing when it’s obvious—”

“We haven’t been—” He paused. That’s not something he wanted to get into.

“You haven’t?” She asked, surprised, because he’s never _denied_ anything before.

“It’s complicated. Most things with Sylar are.” He told her.

She nodded. “And that’s another one of those things not to poke my nose into,” she said. It wasn’t a question. He nodded anyway. “Why now? Near-death experience made you rethink your priorities?”

“Not mine. His. His near-death. Multiple times. That _incident_ I mentioned earlier. And then all organic life in the galaxy was almost killed and he was endangered by Romulans _again_ and I just… Need him to know. Need me to know. I’m committed to this. I love him.”

She smiled at him and touched his shoulder. “Well, congratulations.” She said.

“I haven’t asked him yet. Not officially.” He responded.

“That’s just a formality.” She’s right, of course. There was a moment of silence that seemed to stretch on as he thought about what he just told her and he actually felt _better,_ to some degree. Like there was still something to look forward to. It’s a very jarring sensation, really.

“So you two have really never--?” She didn’t finish the sentence, but he knew what she was asking, of course. He shrugged. “So how long has it been, then?” She asked with a raised brow. With how close they seemed, it was odd. Most humans would have slept with their partner by now. Especially when it is normally just the two of them.

He just took a long, _long_ swig of the bottle. In fact, he finished it. She laughed. “You’re a patient man.” She told him.

He shrugged again. “I guess.” Patience implied that he would one day get the thing he was waiting for. He wasn’t really waiting. They can’t and they won’t and he’s alright with that. In fact, it’s his own rule. He can’t put Sylar through that after the torture he’s been through, even if he wanted to show him that it didn’t have to be that way. That it could be intimate and enjoyable for both and completely consensual and that’s the way it should be. But he was happy with what they have. There were plenty of other things they can and do engage in that _won’t_ hurt him and that was… extremely pleasurable and he’s satisfied with that. But he certainly wasn’t about to explain any of that to her. It’s none of her business.

She would have asked about his Pon Farr, but Vulcans are very private about that and Rios was clearly the private type, too. The Captain made it clear that it was none of her business with his silence. Seven watched him, then looked out towards the hills again. “Raffi’s your best friend, huh?” She asked. He looked at her. “… Is she seeing anyone?” Cris tilted his head slightly and smiled, suddenly very interested.

**Author's Note:**

> S'vec Sylar belongs to Telas_Selar.


End file.
